


Mint and Pine

by snoqualmie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, teenage boys being teenage boys, yahaba is a snot and kyoutani cant stop thinking about him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 22:18:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10817886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoqualmie/pseuds/snoqualmie
Summary: Yahaba yanks at Kyoutani’s uniform in the club room and ties his tie so tight after morning practice that sometimes Kyoutani thinks he’s trying to fucking strangle him.





	Mint and Pine

**Author's Note:**

> uh vaguely beta-d. playing w characterization lol.

Yahaba is pushy and loud and he looks like a Goddamn puff pastry. He always has to be right, gets way too close to Kyoutani, shoves into his personal bubble, demands Kyoutani’s attention. Yahaba yanks at Kyoutani’s uniform in the club room and ties his tie so tight after morning practice that sometimes Kyoutani thinks he’s trying to fucking strangle him.

Kyoutani has to start packing extra fruit with his lunch because if he doesn’t Yahaba will just eat all of it and he won’t get any. Sometimes Yahaba eats all of it anyway with this shit-eating grin on his face because even though there’s no way he actually _wants_ to eat that much pineapple and only does it out of spite, he knows Kyoutani won’t do anything about it.

But as much as Kyoutani denies it, somewhere between more than a few fist fights and a whole lot of being forced into a really big t-shirt together, they become friends.

After that, Yahaba is _everywhere,_ pushing into Kyoutani’s most private spaces and making himself comfortable. He comes over for dinner and spends half the evening in the kitchen with Kyoutani’s mom, helping her and talking and laughing and swatting Kyoutani’s hands away from the food. He calls Kyoutani’s six year-old sister Kei-chan and when she’s in a bad mood he braids her hair and tells her made up stories about dogs and fairies.

There are nights where Kyoutani’s mom ends up on the other side of Yahaba on the couch and his kid sisters sprawl across them, toes digging into Kyoutani’s stomach. There are nights where Kyoutani watches them all share a bowl of grapes over YouTube videos of baby owls. He listens to Yahaba and his mother talk about novels they’ve both read, listens to Yahaba and his father grumbling over their chess games and talking what kind of house Yahaba wants when he’s older—something two story, big yard, greenhouse, quiet neighborhood to raise a family. There are family movie nights where Yahaba ends up plastered up against his side because no matter which way you spin it, one couch is not big enough for all of them, especially when you toss a squirmy kid into the mix. 

And then one night in June when Yahaba leaves, he hugs Kyoutani.

It’s quick but it’s tight and Kyoutani is absolutely positive that if he looked at his back there would be palm prints. Yahaba’s hands had felt like they were burning through his t shirt, right into his skin and down every inch of his side that they’d slid down when he let go. Yahaba had just shouldered his bag with a grin and left.

Kyoutani grabs a fistful of the front of his hoodie and holds it up to his face, inhaling deeply. Fucking _Yahaba._ Pine and laundry detergent and something else smooth and cool that he can’t put his finger on. It’s been everywhere. Kyoutani’s bed, his couch, even his clothes. Yahaba is always _there._ Which is stupid because Yahaba is shitty and annoying even if he does let him copy his modern Japanese lit notes and he’s a really, really good setter and he sort of just fits into Kyoutani’s family like he’s supposed to be there.

He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. How hard would he have to slam his head into the wall to knock himself out?

It takes him two and a half hours to fall asleep.

The hoodie gets washed and the smell goes away, but then Kyoutani starts to notice things about Yahaba that _nobody_ should notice about anybody _ever._

When Yahaba has to address the whole club he twists his fingers where they’re clasped behind his back. When he’s concentrating really hard on something during class his face screws up and he sticks his tongue out a bit. His ears are kind of pointed at the tips. He eats a little ziplock bag of granola every morning after practice. Yahaba sets his phone down and his background is a picture of Kyoutani’s dog.

One day while they’re having lunch Kyoutani notices a freckle on his jaw. It’s tiny. There are two more near where his earlobe is.

“What are you staring at?” Yahaba snaps, screwing his face up and scrubbing self-consciously at the side of it.

“Your freaky moles,” Kyoutani says back. He wasn’t _staring._

“They’re beauty marks, dude,” Yahaba says. “Fuck you. They’re charming.”

They’re a little bit charming, Kyoutani supposes. If you’re into that sort of thing. “They’re weird,” he says out loud. “I bet there are hairs growing out of them.”

Yahaba reaches out to smack Kyoutani upside the head but Watari blocks it and goes, “Alright, so calculus test! Sucked, right?”

And then the same day at afternoon practice Kyoutani notices that Yahaba’s thighs are smooth and kind of pale and when he crouches down into a receiving position the muscles flex and his shorts ride up and there’s a tendon behind his knee that’s sort of prominent and then Kyoutani promptly takes one of Kindaichi’s spikes to the face.

The ball hits him straight on the mouth and his teeth cut the inside of his lip. The distinct coppery taste makes Kyoutani want to gag. Yahaba rolls his eyes and shoves him way too hard towards the side of the court. Their manager rolls their eyes at the two of them but gets an ice pack anyway. Yahaba pushes it against Kyoutani’s lip and grabs at his hair when he tries to get away.

“Stay still, fucker,” Yahaba hisses, digging his fingers into Kyoutani’s scalp. “Why are you so distracted today?”

Kyoutani shrugs. What the hell is he supposed to say? _I’m distracted because I want to rub my face all over your face._ Kyoutani would rather take ten more spikes to the face and then get kicked in the head. Yahaba is pressing the pack to Kyoutani’s mouth too hard. Kyoutani could hold it himself. Practice is continuing while they sit off to the side. Kyoutani’s arms hang useless at his sides and he wants to shove them into his pockets, but he doesn’t even have any pockets. His mouth tastes bloody and disgusting. He swallows it and narrows his eyes at Yahaba’s stupidly concerned face.

“Is everything okay at home?” Yahaba asks in a lower voice, lips turning down. “Is your dad okay? Still the same case, right? It's stressful, right?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kyoutani grumbles. It’s muffled. Yahaba’s fingers feel good in his hair. He’s kind of scratching at the nape of his neck. “Everything’s fine.”

Yahaba just frowns harder and looks away. It’s silent but the initial shock of the whole thing has worn off and Yahaba’s nails are blunt and persistent at his hairline, back and forth. His thumb is warm pressed behind Kyoutani’s ear. Kyoutani kind of feels like he might barf.

“I like that first-year libero. He’s quick. He’s kind of light on his left foot, though. Do you think he has a past injury?” Yahaba muses after a couple of minutes. He’s watching the team practice, eyes sharp and focused. Sometimes Kyoutani forgets how much time their last captain spent grooming Yahaba, then he points something out like that and Kyoutani remembers that the guy doesn’t miss anything. He probably knows shit about the team members that they don’t even know. Creepy. Yahaba turns back to Kyoutani and narrows his eyes again. “Do you want to come over tonight?”

“You’re an asshole,” Kyoutani mumbles. “I don’t wanna come over.”

“Yeah you do,” Yahaba replies, rolling his eyes so hard Kyoutani thinks they might do a 360 in their sockets. “We can get pizza. And watch Leap Year again.”

“That stupid American movie?”

“It’s a good movie,” Yahaba insists, yanking his hair. It’s an awful movie. On the list of shitty romantic comedies he’s had to watch, that one is definitely in the top three.

The whole way to Yahaba’s house after practice he can’t stop tonguing the inside of his lip. The pain has ebbed to a dull throb but he knows his lip is swollen. He’s pissed at himself for getting distracted at practice of all places. In class, sure. Whatever. He can manage that. But practice? And over Yahaba’s legs? What the hell kind of dumb shit is that? Yahaba keeps prodding him for information, scowling when Kyoutani insists that _no, Dad’s fine. The dog is fine, too. Christ, Yahaba, why are you so worried about the fuckin’ dog? Just drop it._

Yahaba lets it go when they’re shuffling around in the genkan and his cat completely ignores him in favor of Kyoutani, who scoops her up and kisses the top of her head. At least she can’t nag him. 

Yahaba’s mother is sweet and she rubs her hand across Kyoutani’s back when he walks into the kitchen. Her and Yahaba look a lot alike, actually. Their eyes are the same shape and light brown color, their noses are both small and kind of button-shaped. She’s pretty.

“It’s nice to see you, Kentarou. I have a disgusting amount of stuff to get done tonight, but I’m glad you’re here,” she says as she heads up the stairs. Almost like it’s an afterthought she adds, “Shigeru gets bitchy when he doesn’t see you.”

Yahaba drops the handful of takeout menus he’s fished out of the cabinet and when he comes up from gathering them off the floor his face is pink.

“She’s joking,” Yahaba grumbles. “Do you really want to get a pizza?”

“I don’t give a shit,” Kyoutani replies as he makes his way to the living room. The cat settles in his lap and purrs loudly while he scratches under her chin. He can hear Yahaba on the phone, laughing airily at something that was probably definitely not funny while he orders their pizza. Yahaba’s laugh is always genuine, no matter how not-funny the cause of it actually was. It’s annoying. Kyoutani glares at him when he wanders into the main room.

Yahaba spends the time they’re waiting for it to come bouncing back and forth between playing with the cat and pestering Kyoutani into talking about the first years on the team.

“Can’t we just start the movie?” Kyoutani asks when Yahaba points out (for the thirtieth time) that the tallest first year kind of looks like that freckly Karasuno kid with the wicked jump float.

“We can’t start the movie until we have food,” Yahaba says. “Duh.”

Kyoutani scowls when Yahaba’s squirming his way back onto the couch moments later. He reaches out to play with the cat’s feet. She’s sprawled out in Kyoutani’s lap and flexes her claws when Yahaba squeezes her tiny toes. His hands are way too close to Kyoutani’s crotch, though, and it’s setting him on edge. When the side of Yahaba’s hands brushes his thigh and he lets out an aborted noise.

Yahaba’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. It’s disgusting.

“What?” he asks, sitting back on his heels and grinning. “Are you jealous that you’re not getting the attention?”

“Don’t use that baby voice with me, fuck-knuckle.”

“Aw,” Yahaba coos as he reaches out and grabs Kyoutani’s head with both of his hands. Hard. “Is little Kyoutani jealous? Does Kyoutani want to be petted, too?”

Kyoutani tries to push Yahaba away but _fuck,_ he’s strong and he yards Kyoutani off the couch and wrestles him into a sleeper hold like it’s nothing. The cat just settles on the arm of the couch and watches them. Yahaba is laughing again, breathy and loud as Kyoutani struggles.

“Does little Kyoutani want some love?” Yahaba says as he locks his legs around Kyoutani. “I’m gonna rub your big fuzzy head. Yes, I am! Ooh, yes, I am.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” Kyoutani growls, trying to kick his way out of Yahaba’s death grip.

Yahaba’s laugh catches on a snort as he rubs his knuckles into Kyoutani’s scalp roughly and babbles at him in that stupid voice. Kyoutani doesn’t know why the fluffy-haired fucker is so strong. Kyoutani feels like all his work at the gym has been for nothing as soon as Yahaba gets scrappy.  
The doorbell rings. Yahaba makes a surprised noise and jolts up to answer it. Kyoutani flops onto the carpet and tries to steady his breathing. Yahaba is so damn aggressive sometimes. He scowls and sits up, plopping back down on his ass and pulling the cat back into his lap. He rubs his fingers into the spot Yahaba was digging his fist into. That shit _hurts._

“My wallet is in my bag,” Kyoutani says when Yahaba reappears with the box. “You can just take my half of whatever it cost.”

Yahaba rolls his eyes and drops the box next to Kyoutani. He flicks the lights off and it’s too dark in the room and Kyoutani has to blink a few times before he can make out the vague shapes of Yahaba’s main room.

“Why the hell does it get dark so early?”

There’s the sound of hands smacking blindly at the walls and then the lamp tucked into the corner of the room clicks on and the room is bathed in warm yellow.

“It’s not really early,” Kyoutani replies through a mouthful of pizza.

Yahaba just sneers and plops down on the couch next to him.

The movie sucks. Kyoutani doesn’t speak English but the main dude’s accent is wild enough that he’s positive even if he did, he wouldn’t understand a damn thing he’s saying. He’s seen the movie enough times that he doesn’t need to focus too hard on what’s actually being said and the subtitles become a blur of white while he eats pizza and ignores Yahaba’s running commentary. They’re maybe half an hour in when Yahaba polishes off his fifth slice of pizza stretches his legs out gingerly over Kyoutani’s thighs, crossing his ankles. Kyoutani’s only shoved his legs off twice and that was, like, months ago so he doesn’t know why Yahaba’s being such a shifty bastard about the whole thing. It’s not a big deal. Kyoutani just readjusts a little bit so Yahaba’s legs don't slip off. His hand ends up on Yahaba’s shin. It’s fine. Kyoutani is perfectly capable of keeping his hands still. He doesn’t even want to slide his hand up. 

Yahaba ends up bawling his eyes out. Just like every other time they’ve watched it.

There’s a scene where the couple is laying in bed together at an inn and Kyoutani hears a hiccup and Yahaba’s legs tense up in his lap. When he looks over, Yahaba’s eyes are wide and watery and there are fat tears tracking towards his chin. And even though Yahaba’s lower lip is all trembly and he’s kind of snotty and this is the dumbest movie in the history of cinema Kyoutani’s brain supplies the word _“pretty.”_

Kyoutani doesn’t really know what to do with that adjective because, yeah, Yahaba is pretty. Objectively. He’s got smooth skin and nice eyes and his hair always looks soft. He’s tall, too, probably a solid three centimeters taller than last year. He’s good-looking, if you’re into that type of thing. But Kyoutani isn’t, plus he knows that Yahaba takes kickboxing classes and is actually kind of evil. So he pats Yahaba’s knee and says, “Stop crying, you pissbaby.”

“It’s cute,” Yahaba whines, drawing out the vowels.

And Kyoutani doesn’t reply aside from a grunt because what the fuck is he supposed to say? Yahaba knows he hates this stupid movie. The same scene makes him cry no matter what but Yahaba’s legs are warm and feel nice in his lap. When Yahaba scoots closer, settling his legs more firmly in Kyoutani’s lap, he finds himself tonguing the split on the inside of his lip again. His hand is still on Yahaba’s knee and Kyoutani very, very hesitantly slides his hand up a few inches to rest on his thigh. Right above his knee. Yahaba’s surprised jump is barely noticeable but it makes Kyoutani feel like his skin is too tight for his body. Yahaba relaxes a millisecond later and leans his head on Kyoutani’s shoulder.

That’s overwhelming. Yahaba’s hair smells good.

Kyoutani can feel his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. His thumb is sort of stretched out from moving his hand up so he pulls it back in, trying not to sigh when the skin under his thumb is so unbelievably soft that his brain sort of short circuits for a half second. Yahaba’s toes are wiggling against the arm of the couch.

By the time Kyoutani’s finally schooled himself back into some semblance of _chilled the fuck out,_ Yahaba loops his arm through Kyoutani’s and his fingers curl around Kyoutani’s forearm. Then it’s a whole new round of trying to force his heart into a slower rhythm and hoping he’s not twitchy enough to make Yahaba curious.

He walks home an hour and a half later and when he leans into his dad’s office to tell him that he’s home, his dad looks at him over the rim of his glasses and raises an eyebrow like he knows something is up. Kyoutani bolts to his room. He closes the door softly enough to make sure his little sisters don’t wake up.

Kyoutani doesn’t like boys, probably. He doesn’t really like anybody.

His phone buzzes from where its resting on the floor near his bed.

 

_**From: Shithead**  
Don't forget my fucking jacket tomorrow!!! That shit is fleece!! Very important to me._

 

Kyoutani rolls his eyes and pretends it’s not conveniently where Yahaba left it on his other pillow. Pine and laundry detergent and mint, kind of. Kyoutani likes Yahaba, probably.

The next day Yahaba bitches at him for forgetting his stupid fleece jacket while they jog to warm up for morning practice, while they stretch, and all the way until right before he announces what they’re doing for the day. Kyoutani’s going to kick his ass one of these days, maybe. He’s so nice to the first years, all encouragement and friendly pats on the back. They don’t know the real Yahaba.

He imagines Yahaba with horns and a little pitchfork that he cocks like a gun.

He lets Yahaba tape his fingers—just in case—before they start to work out the kinks of a new quick. It's nothing weird; it's just tape but Kyoutani’s heart is pounding against his ribs and something about the way Yahaba’s fingers are brushing his knuckles and wrapping his fingers in white makes him feel like he's melting from the inside out.

Kyoutani’s had crushes before. He knows the feeling. So he isn't surprised when Yahaba nails a jump serve and it clicks that he likes Yahaba. More than likely. He also knows himself well enough to know that he’s the type of person that either goes into something 100% or not at all, crushes included, which is how he ends falling way too hard and way too fast for Yahaba.

It’s fine; he doesn’t tell him. He’s not Yahaba’s type, which is apparently tall, dark haired, and European if Kyoutani judges by the movies they’re always watching. Technically he’s one of those things but somebody’d have to pry the bleach from his cold, dead hands before they saw it. So Kyoutani shoves it down into the bottom of his chest and only thinks about it when he’s in the shower or trying to fall asleep or if class is really boring. Then it’s Yahaba, Yahaba, Yahaba like he didn’t already get enough of him during the school day. His legs, his smile, the way he pokes at Kyoutani’s sides no matter how many times Kyoutani tells him he's _not_ ticklish.

And the more he thinks about it the more things make sense. He understands why he couldn’t stop thinking about Yahaba’s legs, why he wanted to hold his hand, why every single time Yahaba wraps up an amazing practice with a grin and sends everybody off to clean up Kyoutani’s chest feels warm.

It’s confusing for a lot of reasons. Kyoutani isn't ballsy enough to say something, first of all. So that’s stressful and awkward. Yahaba is oblivious, probably, but sometimes it feels like Yahaba gets it. Especially when Yahaba’s lolling his head back against Kyoutani’s shoulder while they stand in line for movie tickets or his hands are lingering a little too long during partner stretching. It feels like _something._

It makes Kyoutani nervous.

He doesn’t really do _nervous_ but then Yahaba’s peeling his shirt off in the middle of Kyoutani’s room to change for bed and Kyoutani’s staring hard at the floor so his head doesn’t implode. Then Yahaba’s touching him all the time. He’s grabbing him and hugging him before he leaves his house or tracing shapes on his back with his fingers when it’s one in the morning and he thinks Kyoutani’s asleep. He’s always leaving Kyoutani’s bed smelling like him, stealing his clothes and never giving them back.

There’s a night after evening practice Kyoutani walks into the clubroom to Yahaba shoving the sleeves of of his old hoodies up to his elbows. He knows it's his because Yahaba never played soccer and the hoodie has a giant fucking soccer ball on the front of it. It’s his. Kyoutani hadn’t even known it was gone, Yahaba had just taken it. Yahaba turns around and the sweatshirt’s got his surname in huge kanji on the back.

One of the first years looks at Kyoutani and tips his head, looks at where Yahaba has turned away from everybody and is digging through his bag.

“Yahaba-san,” he says. “I think you mixed up your clothes.”

Kyoutani doesn’t cringe but he definitely recoils hard enough that Kindaichi snorts.

“Huh?” Yahaba says, turning around and patting himself. “What are you missing, kid?”

“No, uh,” he says, pointing at the hoodie. “I think that’s Kyoutani-san’s sweatshirt.”

Yahaba pulls at the front of it and looks at it. His eyebrows come together and he has the audacity to look bashful. Kyoutani wants to kick him.

“Oh,” Yahaba says quietly.

Watari is standing at the locker next to Kyoutani, lips pressed into a tight line. His shoulders are shaking and he’s staring way too hard at his watch to be able to even pretend to be checking the time.

“It’s mine,” Yahaba blurts a few seconds later. “It’s—we just, like—you know? Like, it’s—it’s mine.”

Kyoutani’s gut lurches and he leaves as quickly as possible. Yahaba catches him a few minutes later, still wearing the damn sweatshirt.

He puts his hand over his mouth to muffle his voice, “Midnight Sniper to Clam Chowder. We’ve been discovered.”

Kyoutani shoves him. “Why the fuck do you get to be Midnight Sniper and I have to be fucking Clam Chowder?”

Yahaba shrugs and grins, “I got to pick the code names because I won rock-paper-scissors.”

Then there’s a hand brushing his and Yahaba’s twining their fingers together. Kyoutani’s gut does that stupid lurching thing again.

“You should spend the night,” Yahaba says after a quiet moment. He’s swinging their arms between them like they're kids.

“Okay.” Even if he wanted to say no Yahaba would just turn the puppy eyes on him.

It’s not until they’re a little too close side-by-side in Yahaba’s bed that Kyoutani realizes that this could go very bad very quickly. When Yahaba sidles up closer and his head lands on Kyoutani’s chest, he prays to whatever gods exist that Yahaba won’t be able to hear his heart beating. Kyoutani never knows what to do with his hands until Yahaba grabs one and sets it on his head or on his back and makes a vague gesturing motion, which is exactly what he does.

Yahaba’s hair is soft when Kyoutani cards his fingers through it.

Kyoutani breathes in and when he breathes out it comes out in a rush, “What laundry detergent do you use?”

Yahaba makes a weird noise. “Lavender pine I think. Mom buys it.”

Kyoutani snaps his mouth closed. He fucking _knew_ it. Stupid fucking Yahaba. Yahaba settles in too fast, sighs and slumps into Kyoutani like they’re dating or something and lets Kyoutani play with his hair like it’s not a big deal.

The thing about Yahaba, though, is that he’s out like a light as soon as his hair gets played with. Kyoutani maybe, sometimes (right then, specifically) traces the features of his face as softly as possible while he naps because, hey, Yahaba started it. The whole touching thing. It’s nice.

Either way, Yahaba’s the one who wanted him to spend the night and now he’s just sleeping on Kyoutani’s chest after an episode’s worth of hair petting. It’s barely past eleven. His arm is asleep where its half pinned under Yahaba’s body but he can’t find it in himself to move. Kyoutani likes it when Yahaba is dozing off. He likes the way his face relaxes and he stops trying to be all composed and collected and just looks sleepy. Kyoutani _really_ likes the way his mouth falls open and his two front teeth look like little bunny teeth.

Daydreaming is a stupid-ass word but as Kyoutani leans his head on the back back against the headboard he turns over the thought of properly dating Yahaba. It would be weird, probably, saying the word boyfriend to his mom and dad, and laying in the grass in the backyard and kissing Yahaba while the air cools off and the cicadas scream. It would be weird to be able to call him by his first name, probably, even though he already could do it. Kyoutani would know what Yahaba’s favorite playlist on his phone is and what kind of foods he likes for breakfast. They could go on walks and drink lemonade on warm days and Kyoutani would have the balls to ask Yahaba why he likes the ocean so much and then he’d sit and listen to him talk for an hour or two or three. Kyoutani sighs and bites the inside of his cheek.

When Yahaba wakes up later he’s bleary eyed and has a smug little smile on his face from where his head is pillowed against Kyoutani’s stomach. They’re quiet for a moment and Kyoutani tries to enjoy the silence before Yahaba starts teasing him for being a softie.

He doesn’t get that, though. Instead Yahaba just squirms until he's almost completely on top of Kyoutani, nudges their legs together, and rubs his face into Kyoutani’s chest. Again, Kyoutani doesn't know what to do with his hands. Yahaba huffs and wiggles his hips, mumbling quietly, “Cuddle.”

Kyoutani hums. He must fall asleep, too, because he wakes up way past his curfew with the laptop murmuring in the background. There’s a text from his mother.

_Staying at Shigeru’s? Don’t intrude! Love you._

Another message of nothing but red angry faces and kissy faces follows. 

When Yahaba isn’t fucking around he’s really, really smart and a decent enough study-buddy. His notes are significantly less organized than Kyoutani’s but he catches stuff that Kyoutani doesn’t and there are doodles in the margins of dogs and flowers and explanations in Yahaba-speak that are easier to understand than their teacher’s. When Kyoutani looks up Yahaba’s eyebrows are pulled into a cute furrow.

The thing is, though, that eats all the time. Constantly. And the way Yahaba eats, while they study and kind of in general, is disgusting and that’s where the issue lies. Yahaba already talks a lot and it doesn’t stop when he’s eating. That paired with the fact that he always eats way too much food way too fast and he that he talks with his mouth full. Like, really, really full. It’s just a lot. Kyoutani thinks that when there’s crumbs all over his mouth or its stained blue from some too sweet candy it should be easy to not think about kissing it but he’s dead wrong. They’re supposed to be studying but Kyoutani’s re-reading the same line of his text book over and over, wondering if Yahaba’s mouth would taste like the gummy bears he’s munching on.

“Hey,” Yahaba says suddenly. “Remember when you called me fuck-knuckle a couple of weeks ago? That was hilarious. Super creative, dude.”

Kyoutani looks up just in time to see a fat chunk of half-chewed gummy bear fly out of Yahaba’s mouth and land directly on his hand.

Kyoutani jerks backwards and gapes at the offending chunk because seriously? He narrows his eyes at Yahaba and he’s got this expression that’s some fucked up mixture of shocked and delighted. Kyoutani looks down at his hand and then back up.

Yahaba lets out a bark of laughter so loud it scares his cat and then he _drools_ on himself because his mouth is still so full of candy. 

Then Yahaba really starts laughing. Doubled over, choking, snorting, ugly laughter that makes Kyoutani’s chest tight.

“Holy shit,” Kyoutani deadpans.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Yahaba gasps, wiping at his chin and trying to compose himself. “It’s not funny, I swear. I’m not even laughing. It’s so not funny. I’m not laughing.”

“Yes, you are,” Kyoutani says, holding his hands out. “You’re so fucking gross.”

“You like it,” Yahaba replies breathlessly, sitting up and throwing his head back. He’s laughing so hard that it’s turned into a wheeze. There are tears in his eyes from it and his teeth are really straight and white and his nose is all scrunched up and— _fuck_ Kyoutani really does like it. He doesn’t know what face he’s making but when Yahaba sits back up from where he’s doubled over again he jolts in surprise.

“Wait,” Yahaba says, sobering up instantly. “I’m sorry, Kyoutani. I’m sorry, it’s not funny.”

Kyoutani almost rolls his eyes. Like _that’s_ the issue. Like it ever has been. Like he hasn’t flicked Yahaba’s disgusting spit-food off his arm a million times at school during lunch and when they eat dinner together. Kyoutani might still be making the face because Yahaba’s looking annoyed.

“Don’t be such a baby,” he says, reaching out and flicking Kyoutani’s forehead. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to spit on you. Ken, c’mon.”

There’s a moment of genuine struggle where Yahaba tries to give Kyoutani a noogie but Kyoutani bats his arms away and glares at him. Kyoutani wants to kiss him. Yahaba leans across the table. His face is too close and he’s all pouty and whiny while he bitches about Kyoutani being a loser and Kyoutani’s chest gets a little bit tight because Yahaba’s breath is hot when he tries to knock their foreheads together and growls under his breath.

There are a lot of things that could be considered bad ideas but kissing your kind-of best friend, setter, and most importantly, fellow high school boy is probably number two behind something probably terrible that Kyoutani just can’t seem to think of because Yahaba’s mouth is right there. A frustrated noise bubbles out of Kyoutani before he can stop it.

“Kyoutani?” Yahaba asks slowly, eyes narrowing.

Kyoutani just scowls and looks at the wall. He leans back and takes a deep breath in. His thoughts are all over the place.

“You’re a dumbass,” Yahaba snaps.

Then he’s leaning all the way across the table and kissing Kyoutani. It’s kind of off-center and Kyoutani feels like kisses shouldn’t be that rough but his hands come up to catch Yahaba’s face to hold him there.

“You big, stupid dumbass,” Yahaba gasps. “You fucking idiot. You like me! I knew it!”

Yahaba leans back and scoots on his butt all the way to the other side of the table, then he’s pushing back into Kyoutani’s space and grabbing two fistfuls of of the neck of his hoodie and kissing him again.

“You dumbass,” he mumbles against Kyoutani’s mouth between presses of lips. “You’re so lame. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kyoutani is pretty sure this is what whiplash feels like. Yahaba’s leaning his full weight into him and they end up falling backwards. Kyoutani’s has to catch himself on his elbows but Yahaba’s breath is hitching and he’s pressing soft, open mouthed kisses against Kyoutani’s mouth so the carpet burn he’s probably going to get is already worth it.

“I don’t know,” Kyoutani manages to get out between kisses. He doesn’t know where to put his hands. “Stop calling me a dumbass.”

“Kiss me back,” Yahaba mumbles, sliding a hand up and cupping Kyoutani’s face. “Kiss me.”

“I am,” Kyoutani replies.

He’s only kissed one other person. It was during summer break of his second year and kissing him is nothing like kissing Yahaba. He'd been confident in a different way, hands on the sides of Kyoutani’s face, steady and slow. Yahaba is quick and squirmy, fingers digging up under Kyoutani’s shirt and breath huffing out impatiently. He wraps a hand around the back of Yahaba’s neck and tips his face forward and kisses Yahaba for _real._ He sets his other hand on the small of Yahaba’s back so that he can sit up and pull Yahaba into his lap.

Yahaba is handsy, grabbing at the front of Kyoutani’s shirt, clenching into fists and then coming back up to hold his face. He’s loud. His breath is shivering out and he’s still squirming in Kyoutani’s lap and he keeps letting out these little bubbles of laughter. He _does_ taste like gummy bears and his lips are soft and the angle is kind of wrong until Yahaba wrestles them into a new position. Yahaba ends up flat on his back, grin so wide it's almost blinding. And then he's shuffling down in Kyoutani’s arms and then it gets really, really good. Kyoutani twists his fingers up into Yahaba’s hair and tries not to moan. Kyoutani is in heaven, probably. Yahaba’s mom could come home and catch them but if Yahaba doesn't care, Kyoutani doesn't care because Yahaba’s stopped talking but he isn't being quiet. He's humming, sighing _Kyoutani_ over and over, pushing closer and pressing his fingers into the hinge of Kyoutani’s jaw. When Yahaba hooks a leg around him and arches up, Kyoutani does moan, can't help it.

“I can’t believe it took you so long. Three months? Four?” Yahaba muses when they have to actually take a second to suck some oxygen into their lungs. He can feel Yahaba shaking. All bark, no bite. Always.

Kyoutani’s mouthing his way across Yahaba’s jaw. It’s soft and smooth and Kyoutani knows he’s being kind of sloppy but he’s been thinking about it for weeks. He kisses the freckle on his jaw, the ones below his earlobe, the one near his temple. Yahaba sighs.

“Holy fuck,” Yahaba says. “You’re killing me. Why are your lips so soft?”

Yahaba never stops talking. Kyoutani sighs and kisses his way back down the side of Yahaba’s face, grabs some of Yahaba’s hair and tugs a little bit. Yahaba makes a keening noise, shoulders dropping as a shudder runs through him, and tips his head back so Kyoutani can mouth at his neck.

“That feels so good,” he breathes. “You’re not allowed to stop.”

Kyoutani slides a hand under Yahaba’s shirt and splays it out. He's so soft. Kyoutani’s pinkie fits right into one of the little dimples at the small of his back.

Kyoutani is halfway out the door two hours later when Yahaba reels him back in for three goodnight kisses in the doorway. Kyoutani knows his stupid hoodie is going to end up shoved at him in a week or so, smelling like pine, laundry detergent, like stupid Yahaba. He grins the whole way through his shower. When he gets back into his room he has two unread text messages from Yahaba.

The first one is a simple _“Goodnight.”_ and the second one is a sparkly heart sandwiched between a kissy face and the dog face emoji. Kyoutani sends back a middle finger. Yahaba is pushy and loud and he looks like a Goddamn puff pastry. He texts Kyoutani too much, bosses him around even more. Kyoutani really, really likes it.

**Author's Note:**

> they smooched of course lol


End file.
